


A Touch Under the Weather

by fangirlSevera



Category: Pacific Rim
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlSevera/pseuds/fangirlSevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as he denies it, Newt knows  Hermann has a cold. And there's no <i>real</i> chicken soup in the shatterdome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch Under the Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cruelest_month](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/gifts).



> Really, just a little fluff I wrote for a friend who was having a bad week.
> 
> I wrote it with slash in mind, but the end result is a bit more ambiguous, so could be read as just friendship or pre-slash.

It had not been a good week, and it was only Tuesday morning.

Sunday had brought a kaiju attack to Lima. He was taken down, but at the cost of a jaeger and its pilots. The loss of life was always tragic, but it was also part of worrying trend. They weren’t winning like they had been. The kaiju were coming more frequently and there weren’t enough rangers left to keep up.

Which is why Monday brought a memo from the U.N. requesting the K-science division provide data and reports to prove that the Jaeger Program was still viable, so they can compare it to the research and fund proposals for a new program: the so-called “Wall of Life.” Newton couldn’t help but recognize one of the names attached to the new proposal. He also knew whatever he was feeling about the whole thing, had to be worse for Hermann, seeing his own father being in direct opposition of his work.

Hermann had understandably been in a mood. In a rare moment of consideration Newt had opted to listen to his music with headphones lest incurring Hermann’s misdirected wrath.

So Newt happily went about his business, sleeves rolled up and latex gloves covered in blue, cocooned in the comforting sounds of Sex Pistols, Queen, Journey, and Jefferson Starship. Not able to keep completely still, even during delicate dissection, he started humming along and tapping his foot. It didn’t take too much longer before he was unconsciously outright dancing and singing. And really, who can resist either actions when “We Built This City” is playing?

Newt belted out the “ _WHOOAA OOOOH OH_ -OH-OH!” in the third verse and spun around. For the first time in hours Newt found himself facing the other side of the lab and Hermann. His energetic singing and dancing came to a screeching halt. “Dude, you look terrible.” Newt declared, ripping his headphones off.

Hermann scowled from his desk. “I refrain from voicing my opinion on your general appearance. I’d appreciate it if you’d return the favor.” Then he coughed.

"Seriously, you’re paler than usual, your nose is all red, and you’re kind of listing to one side, even sitting down. Are you sick?" Newt’s eyes widened in sudden panic. "Because I can’t have you contaminating my specimens." He stood in front of the tables, arms spread out like his body could provide a barrier between his precious kaiju specimens and any bacteria Hermann was emitting.

"It’s far more likely the other way around." Hermann sneered. It didn’t have its usual viperish affect what with a stuffy nose, and a slight scratchiness to his voice that betrayed a soar throat.

Newt shook his head. “No way. There’s no evidence of kaiju carrying any sort of airborne diseases, at least nothing zoonotic. Although…” His eyes widened again as he dropped his arms.

Newton turned and grabbed a chunk of kaiju remains and carried it over the line to Hermann’s side of the lab.

"You know the rules!" Hermann protested, but he did nothing else to stop him from carrying it all the way over to the desk.

Hermann recoiled as Newt shoved the kaiju meat in Hermann’s face. “Here, sneeze on it.”

"I will  _not._ What is wrong with you? Get that thing away from me you madman.”

"This is science! Like, what if the key to defeating the kaiju is actually some H. G. Wells shit?"

Hermann picked up his cane and prodded Newt in the stomach to get him to back away. “If that were the case, given the sheer amount of human contact these creatures have had, surely they have already been exposed to the common cold, which obviously has no affect.”

"Yeah, but what if because they’re so big, it would take large, concentrated amounts."

"What you’re suggesting is biological warfare."

"If it works-"

"And wipe-out any nearby civilizations with these concentrated, large doses of disease combined with the toxic Blue that already disperses from their corpses?"

"I…" Newton’s eyes narrowed. "Yeah." Of course he would never come out and actually say "You’re right." His shoulders slumped a moment before straightening again. "But back to my first point: you look terrible and should probably go back to bed and take some vitamin-C."

"I’m fine," Hermann insisted, before going into a coughing fit.

Newt rolled his eyes. He was no medical doctor, and his biological expertise wasn’t for humans, but he could see how obvious it was Hermann had a cold. Why the other man wasn’t accepting that was beyond him. Just his stubbornness, Newt supposed. That learned stiff-upper-lip-ness Hermann acquired from his years at Oxford.

Newton put his headphones back on, but kept glancing back at his lab mate. Hermann shouldn’t even be there today. If not for his own health, but the quality of his work. But to try and argue that would lead to greater resistance and more insistence to prove that his mental faculties were not at all compromised.

The frequency Hermann’s handkerchief was being taken out increased with time. He would occasionally shake his head vigorously, blinking rapidly until finally his chin dropped to his chest, eyes closed, and stayed that way.

Newt turned his music off and crept over to Hermann’s desk. Crouching down by his chair, Newt waved his hand in front of Hermann’s face. No response, just the continued, slightly wheezy mouth-breathing. Newt straightened and blew out a breath, looking down at Hermann’s desktop. Next to the keyboard were two cups, one empty, the other half full of cold tea.

It was past noon, Newt’s own stomach was rumbling and by the looks of it, Hermann hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast (if even then, the idiot). Newt scrubbed his hands and with one more look back at the still-sleeping Hermann, heading down to the mess.

All scheduled lunch times were over, but there were always leftovers stragglers could wheedle out of the kitchen staff. Although they were in Hong Kong, the kitchen tried to cater to the international tastes. It was clearly an American bend day to Newt’s delight and loaded a plate with sticky mac and cheese, cold fries, and a thin, breaded slice of meat that was trying to be chicken-friend steak.

He shoveled these items into his mouth while standing in the kitchen’s doorway. “Hey,” Newt asked around a mouthful of noodles, “don’t you guys ever do like soup?”

"No special orders!" Chef Wu shouted at him. "You eat what kitchen makes!"

"I am!" Newt said, cramming a handful of fries into his mouth. "But like, you got to have some chicken soup reserves. This shatterdome is close-quartered as a college dorm, where disease is bound to run rampant. How can you not have chicken soup for when the entire LOCCENT staff or the engineers get a cold from each other?"

"That is what medical is for. Next you’ll be asking for honey!"

Honey was not something easily attainable nowadays. There had been concern over honey bee decreases before 2013, but with the added eco-damage of the kaiju, honey was the sort of thing only the elites living in-land could indulge in.

Wu threw his hands up and stalked further into the kitchen, needing to continue making the dinner items and ending the conversation. Another cook, Chua, came up to Newt with an unmarked packet. “Here, I found this in the back of the pantry” she said. “Just put in a cup with hot water. No actual chicken, but it’s the best we can do.”

"Thanks, dude."

She just shrugged apologetically.

Newt had been gone for no longer than half an hour. Hermann was still asleep in his chair. Newt took the empty mug from his desk and took it over to the sink. New waited for the water from the faucet to get hot enough, dumping the contents of the packet into the mug. The contents were dry, tiny noodles and a cube of seasoning. He shoved the mug under the steaming faucet and mixed it all with a glass stirring rod he was (pretty) sure was clean.

He carefully carried it back to Hermann’s desk and set it down. He jostled Hermann’s shoulder. He snuffled and twitched, but didn’t wake up. It was kind of adorable and simultaneously pathetic, like pictures of kittens with leg casts. “If your soup gets cold, it’s not my fault.” Newt told the unconscious form.

Newt went back to his real work, keeping an ear open for any movement from the other side of the lab. Hermann finally woke himself up with a harsh cough. Rubbing at his eyes, Hermann reached for the mug closest to his hand. He took a drink, flinched and immediately spat it back.

"Ew, gross!" Newt didn’t quite hide the chuckle in his words.

"This isn’t tea!" Hermann responded. He narrowed his eyes accusingly at Newt. He wasn’t helping at all to dissuade Newt’s imagining him as a disgruntled, injured kitten.

"Nooo," Newt agreed, crossing the yellow line again. "It’s chicken soup. Or as close as I could get on short notice."

"I don’t want it." Hermann shoved the mug away from himself.

"Well, not now with the backwash. Though it is your own spit, so it’s not  _that_ gross.” He pointedly slid the mug closer back to Hermann.

"I’m not sick."

Newt’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah, okay, sure. You’re not sick. Then explain this, Herr Doktor. How was I able to leave, come back with soup, put it right at your elbow, all without you noticing?”

"I-I was focused on my work."

Wow, he didn’t even realize! “Or you dozed-off for like thirty minutes because you. Are. Sick.”

Hermann huffed. Then sneezed.

"You’re obviously so miserable. You’re breaking my heart, here."

"No need to worry yourself about me, please." Hermann tried his cold tea and grimaced.

Newt wish he could. If he disliked Hermann as much as (they let) people assumed, he probably could ignore his suffering. Well, if he wasn’t going to respond to subtle mothering, it was time for a new tactic. “Yeah, okay. I’m not worrying. I’m not worrying that you’re falling asleep in the middle of your calculations, making your numbers suck more than they already do. Not like we’re supposed to be putting together a report for the U.N. to prevent our complete decommission!” Hermann opened his mouth to retort, but Newt carried on. “And if you tell me again you are not sick, I will go straight to the marshal and tell him that you are, and he will order you back to your quarters. Do you want that?”

Hermann’s fingers tapped nervously against the mug of soup. “Perhaps…” He cleared his throat, glanced up at Newt, then quickly looked down again. “Perhaps, a brief lie down would improve my… Mood.”

Newt scoffed at his wording, but was relieved at the acquiescence. Hermann stood slowly, bracing himself on his desk heavily. He rubbed at his forehead with a soft moan. Newt frowned. “If you don’t think you can get back to your room, you can have the couch.”

Hermann eyed the ratty, but clean, really Hermann it was  _clean_  piece of furniture on the far side of Newton’s side of the lab. “Oh, like I haven’t caught you having a ‘kip’ over there before.”

Hermann grunted. “If you can assure me the only hazardous, biological material on it is your own drool…”

Newt grinned and rushed ahead to prep the couch. He tried to fluff the flat pillows, and he shook out the fleece (kaiju print) blanket. Hermann sat down with a sigh. The moment he swung his legs up on the cushions, Newt draped the blanket over Hermann. “Want your chicken soup?”

"That was  _not_ chicken soup.”

"No. It wasn’t." Newt agreed with a sigh. "I’ll try to have some hot tea ready for you when you wake up."

"Why are you being so nice?" Hermann’s voice was getting so rough and weak, Newt could barely stand it.

He sat down on the sofa’s edge and grinned. “Because you’re all grumpy and adorable.” Newt nuzzled playfully at Hermann’s cheek.

"Stop that! Get off! Unless you want to get sick as well."

Newt leaned back, crowing triumphantly. “You admit it!”

"I admit I am… A touch under the weather."

“ _A touch under the weather_.” Newt mocked, standing. “I’ll try not to think too loudly.”

"Hmmph." Was that word he got out of Hermann as he settled in, pulling the blanket tight around himself. It didn’t take long at all for sleep to claim him once again.

Newt took his phone out and snapped a photo. Turning back to his work, he figured he had at least two hours before he had to plug in the electric kettle.


End file.
